Catharine Bramkamp - Real Estate Diva 04 - Trash Out (6 page)

“When do you want to have the wedding?” He asked reading my fleeting panicked thoughts.
  He smoothed my hair, but made no gesture to get up from his prone position.

“I don’t know,”
I moved my hand to watch the flashes of blue and white light
.  “A big wedding may be a problem for me.”

He nodded. “I participated in the big wedding thing with Beverl
e
y, she wanted something in the city.”  

“How lovely for you.” I said archly, remembering his ex, a thin, nervous
,
greyhound of a woman
.
I could
easily visualize
how she would command the stage as the bride. It must have been kind of scary.

I expressed that last comment out loud.

“Scary?   She was hell on wheels and my mother wasn’t any better.  I thought my brother had a big to do
;
this was monumental.”

“Did you like it?”

“I don’t know why we needed such a show.” He
wrinkled his brow as if the event still loomed over his previous unclouded future.

“And would you care to illuminate?” I pressed. Honestly, the men are so bad a
t
describing what is really important, like
was the bride dressed in
something 
big
and
fluffy
or
did she wear
something
slender
and
elegant dress like
a
Vera Wang?  What
did
the
brides
maids
wear
?
What were her colors?  I knew
to ask
all these questions because I had spent the better part of my year discussing these concerns with Carrie.

He sighed.  “She wore one of those princess dresses, you know with a big skirt with a ton of material and a long train.  She had a crown.”

“A tiara
,
” I supplied.

“Yes, like that.  She also wore
l
ong white gloves because she wanted to make a production of handing off the bouquet, then slowly peeling off a glove so I could
jam
the wedding
band on her finger.”

He
shaded his eyes,
then
positioned me so I blocked the sun from his face
.  “I don’t think you realize
what a
nightmare all that is for the average guy.”

“It’s not your show.” I couldn’t help pointing out, especially if this never occurred to him. “You are Ken, propped up next to Bridal Barbie. We never needed any more than that.”

“And you?”  He asked.  “What do you need?”

“I need you.” I replied.

“So is that a yes?”

I grinned, “It’s not even a yes, it
is
of course I’ll marry you.”

He let out a deep breath.  “Good.”

I was mellow and happy as we drove back to my house, a place that was
decreasing in status
as home, but
increasing
in it’s status
as problem
listing,
with its very own
problem
listing
file on my desk. 

“Patrick and Carrie are holding a show. I’m not up for a show myself.”
I finally said.

He nodded. ”And we’ll support them
. We’ll
think of what we want to do after their day is over. It’s not too long to wait.”

He was right.  The
October wedding was
rising
up
like the first day of school.  Carrie was part frantic and part excited, I was all excited an
d part
detached, vague
and frantic only when Claire or Kathleen texted me.
 

But
to compensate, I watched how the light bounced off the center stone of my new ring. 
I loved gesturing with my left hand.  I loved showing off.  I knew it would get old, but until then, I planned to enjoy every second.

I wondered about Ben’s reaction to his first wedding. Mine turned badly more quickly than his. B
u
t we
had both been
burned. Could a different venue guarantee a different ending?  We could marry in a balloon.  We could marry in Hawaii on the beach.
Mother
would love that
: bare feet, no pantyhose
.  We could marry at the river on a raft or in a kayak.
  
I ran my hands through my hair.  It was a conundrum. What could we do?
We could marry in a box,
we could be married by a fox
, we could marry here or there. We could marry anywhere.
What would make
th
is one different?  What could I
do to express
to Ben
that I loved and wanted
him
and not
the
production?

The agitation in the office was electric, Rosemary and Katherine
restlessly
circled around the office like negatively charged ions.
They could agree on the
S
ign Nazis, but not on what to do with the signs.  They could agree on foreclosures, but not the solution.
At the very least they could agree that my new ring was gaudy, possibly in bad taste, but I wasn’t fooled for a second.

Once it stopped being about me,
I
cheerfully
abandoned the office in favor of more freaking wedding research. I pick
ed
up Carrie and drove up
for
reconnaissance at Prophesy Estates.
Even though Carrie
said yes
to the venue
, we still wanted to check it out.  Beat arguing over what to print on the wedding cocktail napkins.

“Did you feel that
last night?”  Carrie tossed her
purse into the back seat of the
Lexu
s,
it landed with a solid thud.
She
climbed in
to the
passenger
seat
still clutching her oversized wedding binder.
  It reminded me of the big fluffy wedding binder in “My Big Fat Greek Wedding.”
A film that was becoming increasingly prophetic.

“Feel what?” Had I been with Ben last night?
Had the earth moved?

“The earthquake, tremor really
,
”
s
he amended.
“
It was probably only a
three
or something, but still, knocked my clock off the night stand.”  She peered in
the direction
of the Mayacamas Mountains, even though it would be another twenty minutes before we could really see them
decorated with
steam from the Geysers.

“Didn’t feel a thing.”

“Maybe you dropped that thing on the floor and I felt the tremor.”  She reached across me and grabbed my left hand.

“Careful, I’m driving.”

“Oh like you can’t handle it.  Jesus, Mary and Joseph, this is huge.”

“Said the woman wearing a satellite dish.”

She examined it and ohh and ahh over it, for exactly the right amout of time.  “It’s spectacular. Do you want to hold a double wedding?”

“I do not.  And thank you.  It was very romantic and I’m very happy, and no, I don’t
worry about the tremors from the Geysers, there isn’t even a disclosure form for them.  We’re all focused on the Rogers fault line.”

“You’re right, I’m just a little sensitive about everything.
  Do you think we should print Patrick and Carrie Forever?  Or Carrie and Patrick and just the date?
”

At what point did the printing on the napkins for the reception become a
harbinger
for
long term
marital happiness?

“Forever has a nice
sound
.”
I offered, momentarily distracted by the light hitting my own ring.

A wine country wedding is the stuff of dreams and Sunset Magazine feature articles.  And Patrick and Carrie’s would be no exception.  In fact I wondered if one of the editors of Sunset was invited.  

“I have some samples here.” Carrie shifted in the passenger seat and tried to balance the massive notebook more securely on her lap.  “God, with the Furies helping, everything is three times more work.”

“So elope.”  I suggested callously. I turned off at the Healdsburg exit and headed east.

“You elope.” She growled, uncharacteristically.

“I just might.”

Carrie slumped into the seat of the car abandoning the opportunity to force me to admire seven different shades of paper napkins.  “How’s the shower coming along?”

“I don’t want to discuss the shower.” I unconsciously started grinding my teeth, then consciously tried to stop. 

“Then don’t tell me to elope, you know perfectly well what the problem is.” 

Part of the over
-
all strategy for the wedding was
to assume
cooperative weather, which may be just as
reckless
as
Ben’s
dependence
on
sub
-
contractors who were
not
genetically inclined to efficiency.
But we were in this too deeply to consider rain. There were always tents and we could pretend the whole thing was cozy and we did it on purpose. 

Bolstered by that thought
:
that we were infallible and everything would turn out
,
I pulled into the new
ly
poured
,
unmarked asphalt parking
area
for Prophesy Estates
. We were the only
car
on the lot, so to speak.

Carrie climbed out and squinted at the new
ly remodeled
tasting room.  “It looks decent enough.”

“We can tent this parking lot.” 

She made a face. “
We
could
rent floors,” she considered the option for a moment.  “That wouldn’t be bad,
it will look like a big ball room.”

“Then why don’t
you
just hold it in a ball room
?
” 

She leaned in and retrieved the wedding planner.  “Because then it wouldn’t be in a winery would it?”

It took me too long to think of an appropriate rejoinder.  The owner herself
interrupted my ruminations as she
flowed down the
main walkway trailing diaphanous fabric in her wake as if trying out for the
lead in a romance novel.

“Here you are!” Cassandra brushed back her blond locks
, so light they looked white,
and squinted at Carrie.
“You
must be Carrie.”

Carrie smiled coolly and offered her hand.
Her own huge ring glinted in the sunlight.
  She already knew the stories about
Cassandra, filtered through yours truly, so she was holding back her natural enthusiasm
,
if only for my sake.

Cassandra made me nervous. She was a little too dependent on Ben, dependency manifesting in gestures like stroking his biceps, blowing in his ear and ruffling his hair
.
But when
I raised this subject, Ben rubbed his face
and merely said
, “You know how some people are born old and some are born young?” 

I didn’t really, but I nodded as if this had something to
do
with Cassandra’s propensity to slide her hand up and down his thigh when he tried to review her
spread sheets
.
“I’ve heard of that old soul/new soul idea, but I don’t think I buy it.”

“You wouldn’t, you’re more grounded, completely grounded.  Solid.”

“Enough with the solid
.
”  I cut him off.

He grinned. 
“
I think
Cassandra is a brand new soul,
so new it’s like she’s
lost
her way and doesn’t even understand the new world she’s been thrust into.
But she has a fantastic touch with wine, talent like that should be nurtured.”